The Years After
by Starkid191
Summary: A collection of short stories. Merlin's past, present, future and hopes all mixed up with (quite a bit) of angst. Continuing from Drabbles from Camelot, but stands alone. Chapter Two: Midnight.
1. Jerusalem

**DISCLAIMER: IDNOM(BIWID)**

**This is a continuation from Drabbles from Camelot, so if you read that and came here, then thank you! If not, then welcome! (and why not go check it out?) Enjoy!**

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_And did those feet in ancient time._

_Walk upon England's mountains green:_

_And was the holy Lamb of God,_

_On England's pleasant pastures seen!_

_And did the Countenance Divine,_

_Shine forth upon our clouded hills?_

_And was Jerusalem builded here,_

_Among these dark Satanic Mills?_

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He remembered the first time he'd heard it.

In the midst of the pain and the anguish, in the thick ooze, it rose like the sun - a thin, steady, strong voice. The song of a dying man.

Others joined it. The melody flew through the air, dampening the blasts of the shells and the rat-at-at of the guns.

And in the middle of a battle, in the middle of a war, Merlin stopped, and turned, and remembered.

He knew the poem, of course, but he hadn't heard the song. He must have been away whilst it was composed. Away, fighting the people who threatened everything he believed in.

Centuries had passed, and yet there were still those who seeked to destroy. Morgana might have been gone, but there were still others.

When the war had started, Merlin had ignored it. He'd spent years - decades - millennia almost - keeping his distance, never getting involved. But it had continued and soon the whole world was at war. The whole world, burning in the fire that was fuelled by hatred and greed. But still no Arthur. England's need, Albion's need was great, and yet he still didn't come. Would he ever? Or was there something worse to come?

And so Merlin joined the fight, picking his side carefully, killing only those he had to. Fighting to rebuild Camelot, or Jerusalem, or whatever the people of England wanted to call it. It was all the same place. It was a hope, an idea, a golden city built on solid principles. Love. Fairness. Equality. Justice.

They had been so close, so close to achieving it before, but it had all gone wrong. Arthur had died and Merlin hadn't been able to stop it. But this time would be different. Like the song promised, he would not stop until Camelot was rebuilt and Arthur sat upon the throne again.

The song fell like the men singing it, plummeting to the ground, cut short by the harsh chatter of metal upon metal. The sick thuds of wet flesh punctuated the music like a full stop in the middle of the sentence. The dying notes hung in the bloodstained air, slowly dribbling away, sinking into the mud.

And one man, one brave, remarkable man, trudged slowly across no mans land, back to the rat-infested trenches, an echo of a melody carved into his mind forever.

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_Bring me my Bow of burning gold;_

_Bring me my Arrows of desire:_

_Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold!_

_Bring me my Chariot of fire!_

_I will not cease from Mental Fight,_

_Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand:_

_Till we have built Jerusalem,_

_In England's green & pleasant Land._

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	2. Midnight

**DISCLAIMER: IDNOM(BIWID)**

**Thanks to all the people who favourited and followed, and sorry this took so long. I'm going to update this fanfic whenever I get insiration, rather than every week or so, so that there's no really bad ones that just make me want to cringe. Oh, and there are numerous references in here. Kudos to you if you can spot them all.**

**So enjoy! (And review?)**

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If he was honest, Merlin was tired of waiting.

The first thousand years were the worst and the second thousand, they were the worst too. The third thousand years he didn't enjoy at all. After that he went into a bit of a decline.

Eventually, after a couple of millennia waiting, he'd got tired of hanging around for some dead guy who, if he was being truthful, had been a bit of a prat and obviously wasn't turning up any time soon, and had decided to go and see the world.

Or rather, the worlds.

Humanity had developed space travel - some genius named Scott had engineered something that seemed to Merlin to be some kind of cross between education and witchcraft. But it worked, and that was what mattered. So Merlin had left the village where he'd been living for the past hundred or so years and, having all ready seen the entirety of planet earth, had booked the first flight to Mars. He'd worked his way out - one planet at a time - and soon enough he'd seen the entire galaxy.

(He also had enough frequent flyer points to jet him anywhere, but that was another matter.)

Then, one day, about three hundred years after the invention of space flight, he'd decided to fake his age and get himself adopted. The de-ageing spell hadn't been hard, and so cute little three year old Jethro had soon been taken in by a very nice couple who had treated him well and liked to travel. But, obviously, Merlin could not make anything easy for anyone, no matter how nice, and had decided to become an awkward, rebellious teenager. And a goth.

If only Arthur could see him now - spiked hair, black nails, black clothing, skinny jeans, studded cuffs... it was a good job he hadn't dressed like this in Camelot - he would have been lynched.

But the older Merlin got, the more childish he got, and so when his 'parents' (as he laughingly called them. After all, they were a good few million years younger than him) dragged him to some diamond holiday planet named Midnight, he played his part. He'd whined, he'd moaned, he'd made annoying sarcastic comments. He'd been bored.

Until the tour shuttle had mysteriously broken down and the mysterious guy in the blue suit who seemed weirdly curious about everyone had done some smart stuff and put on some specs, that was. After a few choice comments ('We've broken down - in the middle of nowhere!') things had got decidedly more interesting. Then the hostess had shot herself out into the vacuum along with the crazy lady who'd been possessed and normality had been restored. Well, as much as it could be when you were an immortal wizard who was still waiting for someone to give him a straight answer about his 'destiny'.

But then, inevitably, they'd been rescued and Merlin had had to go back to the mindnumbing job of waiting for King Prat. He'd much rather have started hanging round with the Doctor, but he'd vworped off in some tiny box with some ginger girl.

Merlin had liked the Doctor - something to do with the eyes. They were old eyes, old eyes on a young face, much like himself. Maybe, one day, they'd meet again, and they could sit down and talk together.

One day.


End file.
